


Just As One Beat Ends

by erin_babbit



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:04:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erin_babbit/pseuds/erin_babbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pre-epilogue story in three parts highlighting a lot of firsts in their new found relationship. Skips around a bit. Oh, the fluffy feels!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hide Our Love Away

** PART ONE: Katniss **

Each day bleeds into the next. All I can feel is the pain and all I can remember is the carnage I escaped from. Sleep never gives me relief. The fits of slumber serve as twisted reminders of what I have lost, of what I have seen, of what I have done. So I just let the feelings consume me.

As if I could fight it off anyways.

Haymitch has come by a few times (on which days, I do not know) to check on me. He encourages me in an off-standish way and then he’s out the door, white liquor sloshing in the bottle as he walks.

When Sae had encouraged me to get outside, I scowled using my excuse of no weapon to dismiss the suggestion.

“Check down the hall” she had said and left it at that.

After she left, and with a little reluctance, I shuffled into the study and peered into the box that sat on the desk. There was not only my bow but the locket and plant book, my parents’ wedding photo and the spile. These are my precious treasures. I immersed myself in my father’s hunting jacket, breathing in the faint smell that lingered. He smelled of pine and something new and earthy, like springtime. Dr. Aurelius had told me once to try to remember the good, the things that made me happy. I have a difficult time remembering when life was good though. There was always struggle but I suppose there were a few happy moments here and there.

 I remembered Rue smelled of mint and Finnick of clean linen and salt. Cinna smelled just faintly of musk. Gale smelled a lot like my father. Peeta smelled sweet always, sometimes mixed with cinnamon or yeast or some sort of spice. Even when he was caked in mud and blood and on death’s door, he still smelled faintly sugared.

Prim…well she smelled like home.

                I miss Prim. Something I cannot rectify.  I feel the panic rise in me again but I push it down for now. It will come back again when I am weak.

                I miss Peeta.

                I wonder where he is and I selfishly, desperately want him to come back to me.

And then, as if my thoughts had been read, Peeta came home. His scars were visible, new and pink like mine. Shame rushes over me as I stand in front of him dirty and half-crazed. I want to be brave like Peeta. Not this mask of brave that people thought I was as the Mockingjay, but confident and undaunted like the man planting flowers in honor of…

 In that instant, I felt my cold heart lurch and begin to beat again.

I opened the windows to get rid of the stench of roses, letting the clean air purify me as well. Then I scrubbed the wasted days from my skin.

The woods called to me and I answered.

The tears I cried with Buttercup re-opened the wound that was left when my beloved sister had gone. The tears I cried with my mother cleansed it.

I do not want to forget this time, this turning point. Slowly and surely, piece by piece I will put myself back together.

The boy with the bread had once again brought me back from the brink.

 

The first time I had forgotten I was the Mockingjay (if only for a little while) was at the kitchen table.

                 Peeta had tried to strike up a conversation at breakfast, the first he was having with me. It was kind of amusing how his cheeks would turn a little pink as he rattled on about the mundane. He talked about the weather or the ingredients he used in the bread that he brought or the squawking geese that Haymitch had adopted. He asked Greasy Sae about her granddaughter. He asked me how my food was and I nodded. I felt the overwhelming need to memorize everything he said. And then we cleaned up. I asked him in a mumble if he would like to come back for breakfast tomorrow, to which he smiled and said ‘yes’.  And then he told me goodbye.  The moment the door clicked, I wanted him back. I hated for him to leave me. We had spent too much time apart already. But I feel better in the fact that he would be back tomorrow. I like the certainty of the ‘tomorrow’.

 

 

In that first week, I tried to take Dr. Aurelius’s advice to heart (after he recovered from the shock of me actually picking up the phone). I shared with him the few moments of happiness I had granted myself and then the inevitable breakdown that would follow. Dr. Aurelius was pleased with my progress though. I went to the woods everyday but rarely came back with much. I showered more than was needed but the hot water helped clear my mind. I took up gardening a little, mostly keeping to the primrose bushes.

 I had come to hate the hours between Peeta’s visits so after just a few days I asked him to start joining me for dinner too. Something he seemed happy to do. We are mostly quiet while we ate but it’s always comfortable.  It’s a lovely thing to just be able to glance over at him, to know that he is here with me.

 

When I asked him to stay the first time, we had been home for weeks.

                He was leaving after dinner, his hand on the doorknob as he said his goodbye.

                “Peeta?”

                He turned to face me, “Hmmm?”

                “Will you stay? Just for a little while.” My voice seemed squeaky from being mute for hours on end. The look he gave me made my heart speed up.

                “Okay.”

                So I gathered an old quilt and he followed me to the back yard. I laid the quilt down, sat and patted the space next to me. So that’s where he sat, his shoulder barely away from mine. We enjoyed the warm spring air and watched the sunset together. When night had blanketed us, I pointed out constellations to him; something he apparently did not know I knew. He listened intently. I smiled a lot and so did he.

 

 

 

The first time I laughed, really laughed, was on a rainy day. And it wasn’t at anything too particularly funny. I had almost forgotten how to laugh.

                At some point in the passing month or so, we found ourselves together a lot more in between meals. I would hunt swiftly so I could get back to him. The bottom dropped out of the sky as I came through the back door of his house that day. I loved the first breath I would take going into Peeta’s kitchen: always fresh and warm.

                “I’ve made a cake” Peeta chimed as he took the hunting jacket from my shoulders.

                “What’s the occasion?”

                “No occasion, just wanted to see if I could remember how to do it.” He smiled. “Let’s make frosting!”

                And even though I protested, I did it anyway because it made him happy.

                The frosting did not turn out well. It was runny. And I felt a little defeated as Peeta inspected it, his eyebrows knitted together.

                “Well, um…” He never had it in him to hurt my feelings.

                I felt the beginnings of a chuckle slip out of my mouth as he searched for words. He was searching for something polite to say; something positive. So I decided to poke fun of myself for him. “That has to be the most pathetic bowl of frosting you have ever seen” I said flatly. And then I couldn’t hold back any longer. I laughed. I laughed at the look on his face and at the glop he poured from the spatula and for my really horrible baking skills. I laughed because it felt good. I laughed to make up for all the time I hadn’t even cracked a smile.

                He seemed mesmerized by the sound at first, staring at me like I’d grown another head. And then he started to laugh too.

                That night for dessert we had cake dipped in what was christened “buttercream soup”.

 

 

 

                Peeta started baking non-stop to remember. I sat in his kitchen a lot, mostly watching but sometimes writing letters or cleaning and storing what I had gathered that day. He was a little out of practice on the more complicated things his father used to make and it frustrated him. He kept telling me it was all he had left. The frustration would catapult him into Capitol-made visions. He tried to remain in control. Some of the time they bubbled under the surface. Most of the time though, he’d wind up breaking a bowl or snapping a wooden spoon and coming out of it crumpled on the floor. The first few times it happened, I froze in my chair, unsure of what to do. But now I know that if I brace my arms around him from behind and murmur his name over and over, he comes back quicker and usually without breaking anything.

Slowly the instructions came back to him and he would write them down in a journal with flourish. I would smile over new entries and tell him his father would be proud.

 When he remembered the recipe for cheese buns and how much I loved them, he made dozens. I ate them with every meal for three weeks straight, giving Peeta a genuine smile in between bites.

 

Dr. Aurelius encouraged us to heal together, after all misery loves company.

                When we went into the heart of town for the first time together, we went early just in case one of us broke down or Peeta had a flashback. We had skirted around the main square many times, usually going straight to the marketplace for food and such or to the train station. It’s not like there was much to look at anyways. There were no shops or a justice building or even a bench to sit on in the town square. Everything was set up in the make shift market that was once the Hob or people traded what they had door to door like I usually did. We have come the day before they were to break ground on the justice building and the new merchant quarters. Spurts of green grass sprouted here and there in the soot but otherwise everything was bare, a blank canvas. The memories sputtered at first, tears getting caught in our throats but then the words flowed out effortlessly. The recollections were eerily blissful.

                When we came to where the Mellark bakery once stood, Peeta stopped talking. I watched him for a long time, waiting for tears to start but they didn’t.

                “I miss them sometimes. I try to think of what it would be like if they were still here. My dad would visit us, maybe my brothers if they cared to get their heads out of their asses. But I don’t think my mom would have much to do with me. I think she would still be holding onto statuses even though they don’t exist anymore. I think we would see less and less of one another until eventually the visits would fade out.”

                I look out over the wide open space where the bakery once stood and nod my head. My fingers find his wrist and slide down to interlace with his fingers. His calm demeanor gives after a few moments and his real knee collapses, pulling me down with him.

                “I’ve got you” I whispered, cradling his head on my chest.

                And that’s how Haymitch finds us. He was on his way to pick up his liquor. Instead he helped us both to our feet. Peeta hangs onto us, Haymitch on one side, me on the other and we shuffle back to the Village. After Haymitch left and we had built a fire, our arms held one another quietly.

                I broke the silence. “Do you think you’ll rebuild?”

                At first I didn’t think he heard me so I shifted my gaze back to the fire.

                Before he left that night, he answered. “I think maybe one day I’d like to. But I think I want to rebuild me…and you…and us first.” He didn’t look at me, instead staring straight at the door. I watched the blush creep from his cheeks and up to his ears. Relying on my instinct, I pressed my palm softly to his cheek and he leaned into it for a long moment.

                Peeta left with a smile on his face. I felt fuzzy down to my toes.

 

 

 

 

                As summer faded into fall, I had perfected going through the motions. They eventually become less mechanical and I almost feel normal; just another person going through their daily routine.

Almost.

I still have dreams of those few moments before someone precious to me dies. I scream silently in the nightmares and my feet are always too heavy to run with. Sometimes everything and everyone just goes up in flames. But not me. No, the girl on fire just watches everyone else be consumed by it.

Peeta tells me that it’ll be okay one day and reminds me of all the good things, whispering them in my ear, repeating them like a mantra.

I believe him.

 


	2. It Lights The Way Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pre-epilogue story in three parts highlighting a lot of firsts in their new found relationship. Skips around a bit. Oh, the fluffy feels!

** PART TWO: Peeta **

Sometimes the want to touch Katniss overwhelms me.

                The first time I gave into it was after we had started on the memory book. We sat, cross legged on the floor around the coffee table, adjacent from one another. If we shifted at all, our elbows would knock together. The memories we would re-create on the pages of parchment often left us quiet; like one mention out loud of anything would crumble us into a million pieces. She would stop a lot in between writing, sigh and look at the pen in her hands for a long while. And then, eventually she would continue. Sometimes I would break the silence to ask her about the shiny memories in my head and she would answer ‘real’ or ‘not real’ and that was that. This particular day, we worked on the pages for Finnick.

Katniss stopped to look at her hands not very long after starting, fidgeting with her fingers and sniffling. I glanced over to the page to see she had been writing of Finnick’s love for Annie. My chest clenched at the thought of Annie alone.

                “I’m really glad you’re here Peeta.” she said, peering out from the tendrils of hair that have fallen from her braid. The sentiment is overwhelming and I cannot help myself. I lean over, take one of her hands from her lap, bring it up to my lips and softly place a kiss just above her knuckles.

“I’m glad I’m here too.” I let my breath dance across the spot I’ve kissed, my lips hovering.

It was especially difficult to say goodbye to her that night. A dream I used to have years ago surfaced when I had finally drifted to sleep. In my trance, her body was soft against mine. I wrote to memory the sounds I could pull from her lips when I touched her breasts and the gasp she let out when I circled my fingers inside of her.

I woke to a familiar tightness in my pants and for the first time in a very long while, I indulged. I pressed into the mattress, a hand down my pants, thinking of the sounds she made in my reverie. And I desperately wanted to know how accurate they were.

 

 

                We would walk in the afternoons to watch the town being built, taking advantage of the milder weather before snow came and we would be trapped inside all the time. The Capitol had sent extraordinary machines that erected buildings in half the time. With gold and red leaves still littering the ground, we would sit in the meadow and watch, hot chocolate that Katniss had learned to make in hand. We would bring paper cups and canteens full of it to give to the workers. Once the sun had warmed up the day, she would sprint to the woods and I would travel back home to paint, a pastime I had just recently picked up again. Greasy Sae taught us how to can fruits and vegetables.

                Johanna started calling around that time too. Katniss giggled a lot on the phone with her.

               

                The first time we slept in the same bed in this new life happened on a whim.

                The beginning of snow was looming. We had recently begun to read books we had bought at a shop in town. They were considered a luxury these days to have since most citizens watched people read the books on television or stared at a glowing device that had books projected from them. In the old District 12, the only people that really had them were school children and people in Town. We sat across from each other on her couch, socked feet overlapping, our noses stuck in the worn pages.

                Katniss eventually drifted off into exhaustion, as she usually did from days of restless sleep.

                But I roused her when I lifted her up into my arms. Her head lolled around, her eyes opened for just a moment and then she was out again.

                In that moment of complete and utter weakness, I climbed in next to her, pulling the blankets up to our chins.

                I woke before she did, warm and rested. And for a while, I just watched her chest rise and fall with each breath. She woke up softly, on her own accord; not thrashing and crying from a nightmare.

                “Good morning” she greeted, stretching her arms above her.

                “Good morning.” And still high on a wonderful night’s sleep, I tucked her hair behind her ear. “I thought I’d fix you breakfast. I mean, if that’s okay?”

                And she nodded, smiling at me.

 

                From that day forward, it’s like we had an unspoken agreement: we did not face the nightmares alone.

                I started bringing a bag over every night like it was a teenaged sleepover. But as the snow started to bury everything in sight, I found it difficult to return home after breakfast.

                So one day, Katniss wrapped herself up in layers of clothes and jackets, a scarf covering everything but her eyeballs and trudged home with me.

                “Why don’t we pack a few things up to keep at my house?”

                I stared at her, “Like move in with you?”

                She’s thoughtful for a moment, “Yeah. I guess so.”

                And so I did. I moved in with Katniss Everdeen.

                And it got easier to knit ourselves back together every day.

 

                I can barely remember our kisses. I know they happened but I can’t remember the feel of her lips or the taste of her breathe. While I cling to these particular memories with everything I have, I feel like they are tarnished. I have overthought them and the thread that the thought hangs from is frayed.

                I want to recapture it.

                The first time I feel bold enough to do it is when the first signs of spring start to appear. We’ve been home for nearly a year. Katniss is planting herbs in little painted pots on the back porch, telling me what we can use them for when they start to sprout. She looks like the old Katniss; dirt up to her elbows, braid falling apart, cheeks pink from exertion. She rubs her forehead with the back of her hand leaving a streak of soil. My hand moves under her chin before I can process what I’m doing, tilting her head towards me. Her eyes grow wide as I sink my lips down to meet hers. The spade she is holding clinks to the floor and she turns her whole body towards me, fisting her hands into the front of my shirt. Minutes pass before I pull away, her mouth gaping, eyes still closed and whisper with a smile into her ear, “I’ll go get dinner started.”

 

                We did not speak about the kiss. I was certain, though, that she acted just a little differently. I would catch her staring and she would not immediately look away. The feeling that would flutter through my chest would send me back before my hijacking, to thoughts of young love and adoration. And these old feelings made me want to start the bakery back up and so I spent many afternoons in town with contractors when the tress became green again.

               

                The first time Katniss faced her demons was on her own.

                I came back home after a productive day in town, a few new herb plants in tow for her. I stop at the threshold of the open front door. Boxes of all shapes and sizes cover the living room. A disassembled bed leans against the hall wall and linens are folded on the steps.

                “Katniss?” I place the herbs on the kitchen table and inspect down stairs. I ascend the stairs to be greeted by a dresser and a rolled up rug in the hallway.  I call her name again but still get no answer. There at the end of the hall, Prim’s bedroom door was open. I hesitated, preparing myself for a crumpled Katniss in the middle of the floor.

                Instead, I found her in sweatpants and one of my paint-stained t-shirts scrubbing the baseboards in her sister’s empty room. She was humming very quietly.

                “Katniss?” I asked again.

                She turned, smiling at me, “Oh! Hey…I didn’t realize how late it was.”

                “What are you doing?”

                “Just cleaning out this room, donating some clothes to the families that just got back, moving forward…” Her words sounded a bit unsure but she continued, “I thought Jo could come to visit and stay in here. I cleaned the study out too and set up your paints in there so you can see the garden. I hope you don’t mind.”

                “Not at all.”

                She shifts on her feet uncomfortably, darting her eyes around me. “I just, I wanted to get rid of the ghosts. I have a lot of happy memories too. And, well, ever since you kissed me, I-I wanted to make some new ones…”

                I stride to her and kiss her again, after weeks of wanting to. I kiss her until we both can’t breathe and even when she’s come up for air, my lips shift down to her neck, never breaking contact. She whimpers when I press her back against the wall.

I kiss her for everything I’ve forgotten and everything I can remember.

And because I am but a man and the woman of my dreams is pinned against me, I let my hands roam.

The noises she makes when my fingers find the warm wetness between her thighs are far better than any I could make up in my dreams.

When we’ve settled into bed that night and I pull her tight to my body, she kisses me without hesitation. Without a doubt, I know that I would go through everything all over again to end up here.

“You love me, real or not real?”

In the moonlight, I see her smile. “Real.”

 

 


	3. It Can See Us Through These Dark Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pre-epilogue story in three parts highlighting a lot of firsts in their new found relationship. Skips around a bit. Oh, the fluffy feels!

**PART THREE: Katniss**  

              Haymitch likes to laugh at us a lot these days. He saves his snarky remarks for when Peeta holds my hand while walking through town and his cat-calls for when he catches us making out in the swing on our front porch. Perhaps it should bother me more than it does but if the only thing I have to worry about these days is drunken Haymitch Abernathy, I’d say the odds are in my favor.

 

 

                The first time I get to see the bakery, Peeta makes me cover my eyes. We’ve been avoiding that section of town for weeks now and I’ve gotten just a bit antsy.

                “You ready?” he asks. I’m nodding before he finishes the question.

                When I remove my hands, I’m greeted by a quaint, perfectly square, brick building. The front has big windows and a cream and burgundy striped awning that runs the width of the store. My smile is wider.

                “Yeah?” he asks, taking my hand.

                “Yeah.” I answer as he drags me in. They are still painting. The walls are a soft tan. The artwork (clearly Peeta’s) is abstract in design and are painted in the colors of fall: rusty oranges, golden yellows, deep burgundy and brown.  Pendant lights made of orange blown glass hang over the counter and the work space is visible from the front. He shows me the huge fridge and the store room and his office. He beams as he shows me the iron bistro sets for outside and tells me about who has hired so he won’t have to be here all the time.

                “Where would you be?” I ask, teasing.

                He smiles coyly, backing me up until my back hits a marble work surface. “With you. Where else would I be?”

                It is well after I have been propped up on the table, Peeta between my knees and my hand down his pants that we hear someone clear their throat.

                “And that would be the painters back from lunch” he says pulling me onto my feet.

 

 

                There are still times where the visions will creep into my sleep, but they are far less frequent now. Dr. Aurelius told me to try to talk to Prim and the others to ease my mind, a notion I thought was insane…at first. He explained it was a method used by long forgotten religions. I cried for what seemed like hours the first time I tried to do this. Peeta wasn’t quite sure what to do with me. He started talking to Finnick for me and it got easier the more I did it.

Mostly, now, I talk to Prim; usually when I’m perched in a tree or lying by the lake. I tell her about my life now, about Peeta and I tell her how much I miss her.

And after a while, she doesn’t appear in my nightmares anymore but rather, my dreams.  

 

 

 

                As summer arrives, Johanna comes to visit. She’s still quite the spit fire. When she saw us with our arms draped around each other at the train station, she laughed like a maniac and asked Peeta how the girl on fire was in bed. Her crassness still makes me blush. She does seem happy for us though and the encouragement seems to make Peeta a little bolder at night when he presses himself against me.

                Jo teaches me to throw an axe and we spend a lot of time in the evenings going through our memory book. She even adds a couple of people herself. We sunbathe in our underwear at the lake and eat sweet bread that she and Peeta make while I’m out hunting.

                While Johanna is a guest in our home, Peeta and I have pulled back with the affection a little bit and it is slowly driving me insane. At night, as soon as the door clicks closed, I cling to him. I am frantic to catch up, palming him through his jeans and scraping my nails down his chest.

                The affection, the one-on-one with the person I love has healed me more than any method Dr. Aurelius wants me to try. It is raw and real and just makes me _feel._

                He slows me down each time though. “We have all the time in the world now, Katniss.”

                When Johanna leaves, it’s like another stitch closes. She embraces me with a promise to be back soon and tells me, “I’m okay. And really that’s all I ever wanted to be.”

 

                The bakery is up and running by mid-July. True to his word, he still spends most of his time with me. Instead he gives jobs to those who need it and teaches them his family’s recipes. He comes home beaming and proud. I can’t help but praise him.

                The day we make love for the first time, he comes home in the early evening covered in flour and smiling.

                “What in the world?” I ask, stirring our dinner on the stove.

                “We may have thrown ingredients at each other like we were twelve,” he kisses the back of my head and wraps his arms around me, “And then we had to clean it up like adults. Sorry you had to wait.”

                “No matter,” I say turning into his embrace.

                He cleans up and I serve our dinner on our tiny kitchen set. He talks animatedly about his day and we laugh together as the sun fades behind the clouds. He cleans up the dishes and I stroll out to the back porch to water my herbs.

                As I stared at him through the window, the colors of twilight dancing across his face, something shifted in my head and in my heart. We had truly _changed_.

He built something himself and shared the wealth with others.

I faced days with a positive outlook, no longer the cold-hearted girl keeping people at an arm’s length.

We both fought and won against something that can never hurt us again.

My feet gravitated towards him without thinking and I kissed him with such a passion that he knew it meant something else entirely.

I wanted that last wall to fall. I wanted to be his completely.

We were confidant in pulling off clothes and caressing one another’s bodies the way we had perfected in the past months. Eventually, though, we came to uncharted territory. It was a strange but welcome sight to see: Peeta Mellark looking quite unsure as he hovered above me. I kissed his uncertainty away and helped guide him into me.

He stilled as our hips met, murmuring words that only half made sense. They were the sweetest sounds I’d ever heard.

We were clumsy and shy, giggling when our rhythms don’t match. He apologized when it didn’t last very long and I quieted him with a kiss.

“We have all the time in the world now, Peeta” I whisper. He smiles in the curve of my neck.

 

 

Many more months pass before I have the courage to write a letter I’ve been meaning to write for quite some time. My mind and my heart are in a different place now and the words flow out easily onto the paper:

 

_Gale,_

_I hope this letter finds you well._

_I’ve been keeping up with your endeavors through the newspaper and snippets I see on television. I know your_

_father would be proud of the leaps we have made in this new world._

_I’m hopeful that you will find your way back to Twelve for a visit some time. So much has changed. It is thriving, bustling even. It is no longer gray and brooding but hopeful and content._

_I think of you often while out hunting. It is very difficult not to. They are happy thoughts though. After all, I used to only smile in the woods._

_I do not blame you for what happened to Prim. Not anymore. I used to, maybe just so the burden of blame wasn’t entirely on me. A friend told me a while ago that okay was all she hoped to be and that really stuck with me, you know? I know I’m okay now. I hope you’re okay too._

_Sending my best,_

_Katniss Mellark_

Peeta rests his chin on the top of my head and I tip the paper up so he can read. After a moment, he points

to my signature. “Is this your subtle way of telling him we got married?”

                I laugh, folding the letter and placing it into an envelope. “Should I write him a separate letter explaining my love for you? Or maybe include some photos of us expressing our love to one another?” And then I wiggle my eyebrows.

                He sweeps in to tickle my ribs sending me into a fit of giggles. “Oh, Mrs. Mellark! What will I do with you?”

                I make my way over to him, brushing his wavy locks from his forehead, “What you’ve always done, Mr. Mellark. Love me.”

                He smiles and leans in, brushing his lips against mine “Always.”

               

 

**END**


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